The Cross and the Curse (Bernicia Chronicles Book 2) by Matthew Harffy Read Free Book Online Page B

unreadable. Perhaps he had an idea of what his brother planned. Perhaps he didn't care.
     
    Beobrand clumsily unwound the wraps from his legs. He was still not used to the lack of the best part of two fingers on his left hand. His feet hurt from the march and he wanted to let some air onto them. He was sure he had blisters. Perhaps he could pop them and then they wouldn't hurt so much.
    "My feet are killing me too," said Acennan, from the prostrate position he had slumped into after it became clear they would be setting up camp on this hill by the Wall. "It's the worst thing about war. The aching feet."
    The men around them groaned their consent.
    "My feet are paining me more than my hand. I'd quite happily cut them off."
    "Be careful what you wish for," said Attor, as he flopped to the ground beside them.
    "Welcome back, Attor," said Acennan. "What news? Are they close?"
    "Too close for my liking. We will fight on the morrow." Attor repeated what he had told Oswald.
    "Just as we suspected then," said Acennan. "Outnumbered with our backs to the Wall."
    "The king has a plan to use the land and the Wall to help us. He will assemble the men at sunset to tell them to prepare for battle."
    "If we can get Cadwallon to attack into the gap between the Wall and the hill, it is not a bad plan," said Beobrand. "But it relies on Cadwallon attacking where we wish him to."
    A light drizzle began to fall. The moistness in the air cooled the weary warriors. The sun was still bright, shafts of light streaming through breaks in the clouds.
    Beobrand leaned back and turned his face to the sky. The welcome smirr of rain soothed his hot face. He opened his eyes and looked at the men around them. On the brow of the hill, under the canopy shelter, stood Oswald, Oswiu, Scand and some others. They were deep in conversation. Below them, on the hill's skirts, were scattered groups of men. Some had lit fires already, and smoke was rising lazily into the damp, warm afternoon haze of rain and sunlight.
    A couple of men were busily chopping at an ash tree that grew half-way down the slope. The sound of their axe blows reached Beobrand a moment after he saw them connect.
    On the Wall itself, wardens had been posted. They stood with their backs to Beobrand, looking out over Deira Stræt to the south.
    Light and dark dappled the clouds in the sky above them. Beams of light pierced the leaden clouds and then, like a sign from the gods themselves, shone a perfect arc of colour. The rainbow stood out in brilliant glory before the gloom of the rain-laden clouds.
    Some men pointed. A ripple of comments and gestures rolled across the resting warriors.
    A sign, some said. An omen.
    A distant rumble of thunder filled the sky. A flock of birds flew overhead.
    A hush fell on the warhost. The gods were speaking. But who could understand their signs?
    "Perhaps that is Thunor reminding you that he'll watch out for you in the battle," whispered Acennan. Even he was subdued by the portents in the sky.
    Beobrand thought back to the darkness of the room in Bebbanburg. His oath. The fallen cloak. The snuffed out rush light. Sunniva's fears. He closed his eyes, remembering the sudden gloom.
    What if it hadn't been an omen after all? Perhaps it had been a message.
    Beobrand leapt up and started up the hill.
    "Where are you going?" called Acennan. "You've got nothing on your feet."
    "Never mind my feet," replied Beobrand. "I must speak with the king."
     
    "What is the commotion there?" Oswald looked up from where he sat. Where the canopy had protected them from the heat of the sun, now it gave them shelter from the light, yet soaking, rain.
    Scand stood. "It is one of my men. Beobrand is his name." He rose and made his way down the slope to where two of Oswald's gesithas remonstrated with the young man from Cantware. They clearly had no intention of letting Beobrand pass and the headstrong warrior was getting increasingly frustrated. Scand shook his head. The man needed to learn